Parallel
by Tophlet
Summary: Al found he didn't mind Ed hogging all the attention. It struck him as funny what people would tell him when they thought he didn't matter. On temporary hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Rumors of the Fullmetal Alchemist spread around Amestris like wildfire. Most who hadn't met the man himself passed those rumors off as an urban legend. The tales were simply too outlandish to entertain as fact. A man, 7-feet-tall, who spent all of his time in a majestic set of armor, running around the country side helping innocents? Please. The official motto may be, "Alchemist, be thou for the people," but no one disputed the unofficial moniker: dog of the military.

Holding these understandably skeptic opinions in mind, one could easily see how long it would take a body's mind to catch up when a gleaming ton of steel passes in front of their eyes.

"Did you see that?"

"Do you think it's him?"

"Who?"

"The Fullmetal Alchemist!"

Once their brains started catching up, townsfolk would flock to meet him. The throng was often so thick it would hold up any traffic in town. That was before he even started _doing _anything. Soon enough people would run home to grab whatever they could find that needed fixing. Sometimes it was little things, sometimes they pleaded for more dramatic assistance. If the resulting fix was somewhat...eccentric, people tended not to mind. What was more amazing than his alchemical skill was that even in the throng of so many people he would manage to find the person most in need, no matter their size or age or lack of attempt to make themselves heard. "That is what makes him a truly great man," people would muse later, "He really cares, he really listens."

In the wake of such a commanding presence, most people would miss the quiet, modestly dressed young man that trailed behind. By the time the crowd would gather, he would have already slipped away. What people tended to forget was that even a do-gooding State Alchemist was a "dog of the military." More often than not, a State mandated assignment preceded visits to those sleepy little towns. So when attention turned to the eccentric, 7-foot, steel covered alchemist in the middle of town, the real Fullmetal Alchemist conducted his business with little notice.

Al found he didn't mind Ed hogging all the attention. It struck him as funny what people would tell him when they thought he didn't matter.


	2. Chapter 2

The tattoos were Al's idea. Ed kind of loved them.

Now, there were certain advantages to being an indefatigable hunk of soul-bound armor. Ed could fight longer and harder than any _body_ could. He was more than handy in a fight. But there were just some situations that called for a little more impact with the punch. When Al first approached him with this idea, Ed had to admit that his little brother had a point. Having learned the secret to making his own body a transmutation circle, Al couldn't imagine taking the time to draw one fresh in the midst of battle. And how chancy was it to carry chalk around? One missed landing and your only drawing tool would be crushed. Colonel Mustang had his gloves and Al had heard of other State Alchemists using prepared arrays, shouldn't Ed's alchemy be just as accessible?

The two spent _weeks_ pouring over research texts, deciding which transmutation circles would be the most useful, redesigning them until they finally got it right. By putting a different circle on each hand and various others around Ed's armored body, all he would need to do was choose which arrays to activate and bring together.

The work was careful and dutifully planned with the end result being more useful than either of them could have predicted...but after that first encounter with Scar, the brothers agreed they'd have to add a circle so Ed could reconstruct himself. Ed insisted because there was no way he'd ever let Al try to sacrifice himself again.


	3. Chapter 3

For as long as Al could remember, he'd been the better fighter. Well, he'd been better at a lot of things, if he was going to be honest. Even as children, he'd been the better Alchemist: capable of great delicacy and detail where Brother's style was more...utilitarian. At least, that's what he'd thought when they were kids. But now, every time he takes a closer look at his brother's alchemy Al finds another thing to learn. Ed's transmutations might be crude in shape at times, but there was no doubt they were strong. It made Al feel a little better about their whole situation. Maybe he was the only two of them who remembered everything about their trip through the gate, but it seems the truth he was shown wasn't a substitute for ingenuity and an iron will.

That iron will was currently kicking his butt in their spar.

"I can go easy on you if you want, Al," Ed _preened. _It was their first real fight since Al started acclaimating to his automail. Every spar before then had felt like a charity case and Al was tired of knowing Ed _let _him win. If he was going to get Brother's body back then Al didn't have time to be treated like a child. After the fifth sloppily dodged punch, Al demanded his brother stop babying him.

"No way," so maybe he was breathing harder than normal, "am I gonna lose to a _tin can_."

"Then come at me, you big baby!"

Despite the twinge in his automail housing, the pull and stretch of his muscles felt good and Al didn't bother holding back the grin. Despite Winry's insistence that the boys, "Take it easy!" complete with threats, they went at each other with gusto. This was the most normal they'd felt in months.

It was barely five minutes later when Ed stood over his winded brother's supine form with a taunting declaration of superiority. But as much as Ed outwardly reveled in his victory, he couldn't wait for Al to beat him again.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading.<strong> So far this is a collection of short stories revolving around the switched boys. Leave me a review if there's a certain moment or arc you'd like to read! Or just leave a review because you like me. Or just review.


	4. Chapter 4

Ed tried not to be prideful—well, OK, he didn't exactly try, but he knew that the way people reacted to him was all the result of his and Al's planning. The joy on their faces was a result of their plan to keep Al in anonymity...but it would be a lie to say that Ed didn't enjoy the attention. It was merited, it was warrented. He got to _show off._

Al knew this. So when the people of Reole brushed off Brother's big entrance like an annoying circus act and Ed wilted like a forgotten flower, Al dissolved into giggles.

"It's not funny, Al."

Dissolved into stifled snickers.

"I said it's not funny!"

Dissolved into rolling, full blown guffaws. Seriously, there may have been tears.

"Cut it out already!"

Al did his best, dodging some half-hearted blows. Seriously (kind of). Unfortunately, he lost his valiant battle against the throes of mirth, leaving his brother to follow a trail of chuckles to the food stand on the corner. Alright, alright...maybe it was kind of funny, "That was worse than Youswell," and Ed started to laugh, too, because he can't let Al have all the fun, "You'd think these people had never heard of Alchemy!"

They were starting to attract some scathing looks from the shop owner. He pointedly raised the volume on his small radio to be higher then that of their laughter. Al kept one ear on it because, really, the sermon's claims were why they were there, but he'd rather listen to his brother. Strangely resonant and tinny, Ed's laugh still sounded the best to Al's ears.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong> One of you lovely reviewers requested to see how the boys would handle Rose, so here is part one of...who knows.


	5. Chapter 5

"The power of miracles." That's what they called it: the trumped up, tasteless transmutations of a hack of an alchemist: a man too in love with his own lie to see past his own nose. People like that were simple, Al found. They'd believe what you wanted them to. It was the same in Youswell. Big egos expected people to fall in line; they only got dangerous when they thought you were a threat.

So getting into Father Cornello's backyard was child's play. A sweet girl with earnest intentions led Al straight to him.

_"It's just, well...my arm. Do you think...can your god make me whole again?"_

Her name was Rose and the false prophet had her eating from the palm of his hand, leading her on with shoddy promises and paper thin excuses. She was more than willing to introduce the two of them, sure that Al could be healed after he embarked on the journey to enlightenment. Misleading her left a sour taste in his mouth, and when he met the founder of Letoism his "interest" had been a little weak, definitely not his best performance. It was lucky for Al that Father Cornello was a showman. And showmen, by definition, love to put on a show.

"My boy," he'd said, magnanimous and slimy and enough to make Al sick, "I will show you the power of miracles."

Al's front row seat to Father Cornello's public demonstration showed him everything he expected to see. The ring he wore was an alchemical amplifier and if only Al could get a closer look...

The crowd was eating it up, each transmutation entrenching them in the madman's clutches. Al grinned at the gleaming suit of armor across the square.

Cornello beamed, drunk on his audience. "Behold, the power of go-"

"Oh ho ho! Behold," boomed a voice from beyond the crowd, "the power of alchemy!" In the bright light of transmutation, a statue sprung from the ground.

Cornello may have had an amplifier, but Ed had always had _panache _and disrespect for authority. It took him less than a minute to catch Cornello in a bizarre game of showmanship. Alphonse learned a long time ago that shear power didn't mean much when pitched against Ed's bullheaded creativity.

The Fullmetal Alchemist bid his time, gauging his countdown by the shade of rage on Cornello's face. When it skyrocketed from fuchsia, bypassing maroon altogether on its way to purple, Al was ready.

"Heathen!" the madman screamed, "You think your alchemy can compare with the power of god?" He looked down at Al with a fierce expression and the young alchemist saw the gears turning. With a smug grin, the priest announced to the crowd, "This young boy has lost his arm in a terrible accident and has suffered under the burden of blasphemous automail! I, Father Cornello, the messenger of the sun god Leto, will restore it now before your very eyes!"

The crowd stood in a hush, poised upon the outcome of the duel.

Rose stood in shock. Her vision shrunk down to two figures: one she'd hoped to save and one she'd trusted would save her. Everything she thought she knew started to tilt sideways. Her heart screamed in betrayal, drowning out the parts of her that insisted she be happy the boy would have his arm back. She'd believed it would happen when he asked her but never...never so _soon_. Months, maybe, after he'd prayed and begged and pleaded. Not now. Not without a single 'no.' No, 'no,' was always _her_ answer despite all of her prayers and all of her devotion. 'No,' was the answer despite the pain ripping her apart every day she was denied. Maybe that was the truth. Maybe 'no' was the only answer he'd ever planned on giving her.

Cornello laughed at the man he called a heathen with vainglorious scorn. He turned to the blond boy before him whose palms kissed as if in prayer. "Oh, thank-you!" the Al cried, latching his hands on the prophet's own in a great show of gratitude."I don't know how I'll ever-"

"Liar!" Betrayal bubbled over in a course shriek. Rose could only hear the thundering pulse of blood and her own breathing, but the sight of Father Cornello's eyes wide with shock spurred her on, "All this time! I've been patient and waiting and praying _all this time!"  
><em>  
>Her cries lent some sort of energy to the crowd, mutters started here and there, meeting and growing as Rose stalked towards the so-called father, "You promised that if I prayed, if I was devout, Leto would give him back!"<p>

Cornello fought hard to keep the rapid desperation from his eyes. The situation was crumbling beneath his feet. He excelled in deceptive performance, not quickfire improvisation. The seeds of dissension were spreading throughout the townsfolk with Rose at the epicenter. It was a shame. He'd liked her, she was useful to keep around as a good example. With a sigh he plastered on a smile and laid a hand to her tear stained cheek.

"My child," he intoned, "The lord _has_ heard you. Your diligent offerings have reached Leto's ears. If you return to the sanctuary with Brother Cray, you will be rewarded." Rose at once both calmed down and became more agitated, anxious at the prospect of seeing her restored lover. Cornello had always thought her a useful follower, but the look he gave Brother Cray as he lead her away was clear. She was no longer necessary.

The flourish with which he returned to the crowd was somewhat grand, but he needed to recapture their attention and he was confident he _could_ restore the boy's arm.

But...he seemed to have gone missing. The heathen had gone quiet as well and as he struggled to reclaim the tense mood of the crowd he realized why. His ring, the _stone was gone._

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><p>Alphonse was so excited he was nearly shaking. They'd waited so, <em>so<em> long for this and it was right here in the palms of his hands. A philosopher's stone. He'd gotten a brief glimpse of its makeup when he'd slipped the ring off of Cornello's finger, but only enough to know that it deserved _hours and hours_ of study. He hadn't banked on Rose making such a convenient diversion but he wasted no time getting away. To be truthful, guilt gnawed at his mind. As soon as he met back with Ed he would insist they find her to apologize.

Soon enough Al heard the telltale thunder of his brother's running footsteps.

"Al! Come on, let's go!"

He quickly fell into step, pushing double time to keep up with Ed's strides, "Where are we going?"

"Back to the church, I think Cornello's going to do something to that girl!"

"What? Why?"

"That bastard told her he brought someone back from the dead!"

All at once Al understood the urgency. The amplifier was powerful, true enough, but he'd seen it up close in action. It was powerful, probably powerful enough to get Ed's body back, but it wouldn't bring back the long dead. There would be only one reason for Cornello to tell her so.

He slipped the red stone into his vest pocket. It could wait.

* * *

><p>By the time the brothers made it back to the church square, the crowd was on the verge of riot. Some of Cornello's followers were trying to quell the people with little success.<p>

The two boys slipped into the building from the side, making their way through dark corridors until finding their way to the sanctuary. Ed snorted at the gargantuan statue of Leto in disgust, shushed immediately by Al. Quiet sobs echoed in the space all around them. Rose sat collapsed in a heap in front of the altar, oblivious to anything but her own pain. The boys edged along the side of the room pew by pew, eyes on the shadows. Al raced to her side as soon as Ed gave him the all-clear. Her hands were held in place by the crudely transmuted floor. It took the work of a second to release her but it would take much longer to convince her to move.

No amount of cajoling on Al's part roused her up, but as he looked to Ed for assistance his blood ran cold.

There was the _cock_ of a revolver and the _bang _of combustion multiplied by the ring of ricochet. Armor _clanged _with a hollow _thud: _metal fell between wooden pews.

"I don't negotiate, boy," Cornello stated without preamble, "Give it back."

The small sounds of gears straining and metal grinding barely registered in the space: fist clenched without the limits of flesh and bone.

Al could hear Cornello's men moving in, but his eyes never swayed from the enigmatic madman at the far end of the room. Men like him were all the same. They liked to hear themselves talk and they always wanted an audience. It would have been just as easy for his henchmen to kill both brothers at once but then there would be no one to listen. Even without an amplifier this bastard would be child's play.

"You want it back?" Al felt the crackle of energy in his pocket _begging_ to be set free. Rage boiled under his skin. "And you'll do what? Kill me? Kill Rose?"

The false prophet looked smug from beyond the circle his henchmen had made around the young alchemist.

"Hand it over," he said, "And you can _join_ me. I don't have to kill the girl. You could have her if you want." Cornello was a cat and the canary was within reach of his claws. He never expected his prey to start laughing.

"That's it?" Al responded with savage mockery, "_Join_ you?"

"Stop that! Why are you laughing?!"

The smile on the boy's face bordered on madness, "My name is Alphonse Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist."

Cornello's eyes widened in trepidation, measuring the depth of muck in which he'd just landed himself. He'd heard the rumors and stories. The State Alchemist was formidable if they were true but they'd always revolved around a large man in armo—oh. Oh shit.

"And my brother is right behind you."

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><p><strong>Bam. Part 2 of 3.<strong> Thanks for the feedback and reviews :) Sure love you guys. Oh! And I have a surprise for you. There should be a picture of human!Al linked to my profile soon. I'll include the link in the next update for sure but keep your eyes peeled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Content warning: **thoughts of suicide briefly implied.

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><p><em>Children<em> of god who live on this earth...<em>_

Ten men stood in a circle in a dark church.

..._have faith, and thou shalt be saved._

Ten guns were drawn, ready to kill at an order.

Laughter echoed in the caverns and recesses of the ceiling. Each finger tensed and every eye drew to the boy in the center of the ring where he stood in protection over an unresponsive girl.

"Stop that!" cried the panicked prophet, "Why are you laughing?!"

In the dark and the shadows a figure moved, creeping on silent footsteps.

"My name is Alphonse Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, and my brother is right behind you."

Great gleaming arms wrapped around Founder Cornello with uncompromising strength, each transmutation circle tattooed on the metal a threat and a promise.

The gunmen looked on in dumbfound horror. They'd shot off this man's head and yet here he stood—helmet gone and no body inside.

"Just try it," Edward taunted, "I'll have your precious holy man transmuted into mush before you even flinch."

By design, every eye was trained on Ed. It gave Al enough time to stoop down and heft Rose over his shoulder, drawing the attention of a couple guards but never their guns. Both hands were kept free, ready to defend at a moment's notice.

Cornello was drawn further and further into the darkness, sweat pouring down his face and pupils wide and searching. Every step backwards felt like a funeral march. Indignant fury built inside but outwardly he was frozen, held captive by the massive alchemically tattooed hands of the boy's brother. Cornello once hoped to control the minds and hearts of the people by the fear that now held him captive. Retribution was a real threat, one he'd never thought he'd have to fear. As they drew to the door of the sanctuary, Cornello entertained the small hope of a rescue by his gunmen. He hoped in vain. They stood rooted to the spot.

Alphonse turned his back to room, confident in his brother's ability to handle the situation while he got the door. Outside he was greeted with an oncoming march of townspeople. The nearest face he could see was grim, the one next to it fearful, the next uncertain. They were a minute away at best. They were a problem.

"Ed," he whispered, "The townspeople look ready to riot. I can distract them if you can get Cornello out another way."

This was an inconvenience to Ed. He still didn't have his head back on and his blood seal was exposed to the world. He was resilient but it was a stroke of pure luck that the gunshot hadn't ricocheted back to strike the seal. He needed to get to his helmet. Oh hell. He was Edward Elric. He'd figure it out.

"Ok. Ok, I'll meet you back in the alley." Alphonse stepped out of the church and towards the crowd. Edward faced the gunmen.

Edward switched positions to hold Cornello to himself by a hand over his mouth, freeing his other palm to connect with a transmutation circle on his side. The false prophet and the gunmen were nearly blinded by the light of the transmutation but that was the funny thing about being bound to the armor. Eyes didn't seem to matter much to Ed.

Cornello was bound to the wall by a thick band of stone and Edward moved forward to start picking off the henchmen. They were uncoordinated and frightened and not nearly the challenge in a fight that Al was. Hell, without his brother there to worry about, maybe this could be fun.

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><p>"Help!" Alphonse ran forward to the tense crowd. It was a gamble, on the edge as they were, but there were enough kind and uncertain faces that he thought he might be able to play on their sympathies.<p>

"Help, I found her in the sanctuary and I can't wake her up! Can anyone help her? Please!"

A couple men from the crowd stepped forward to take the weight of burden from Al's shoulders. He looked around at the grim faces, wishing he could prevent an all out riot. A hard-faced woman stepped forward and a number of people seemed to be looking to her to lead.

"Young man," she demanded, voice as unforgiving as her eyes, "Is the Founder in there?"

Al had a choice to make. Whatever answer he gave needed to be the right one. He was not one for letting bullies free to cause mayhem, but fueling the fire of malcontent towards Cornello tonight would only lead to rampage. Yet the woman in front of him seemed ready to sniff out the hint of a lie on his lips.

"I don't think so," at least not if Ed had gotten him out already, "When I got there she was alone. Do you think she'll be OK?" This woman seemed to be the lynchpin of the crowd. If she left, it just might disperse.

"Who knows. That bastard has been leading her on for so long today might have been the last straw," she looked at him speculatively, "You didn't think he could really heal you did you? The man's all show and no action."

Relieved that her attention had been diverted from Cornello, Al shrugged and held up his automail for the woman to see, "Would you hope, too?" He didn't mind playing the part of a teenager (reminding himself that he _was_ just a teenager), and if it saved the lives of a few citizens tonight he was glad to do it.

The woman gave one more disdainful look to the sanctuary, sneering as she spat on the ground. Rose had already been taken away from the crowd and, with this woman's dismissal, many folks seemed to have lost their fire. She stalked off. The crowd thinned. Al sighed in relief.

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><p>Twelve minutes later the brothers met in the agreed upon alley and Cornello looked ready to pitch a fit. Al almost laughed out loud before he caught himself. Ed had bound him up with cuffs that sported little suits of armor, spikes sticking out with that ridiculous thread of hair coming out the top.<p>

The brothers shared a look. Aside from that short bit of attempted murder, everything was going OK so far. Al turned to the Founder and hopped up onto a crate, swinging his legs like a child. After a contemplative moment he drew out the stone and, with complete lack of ceremony, passed it to Ed.

"Now," he began, "How did you make the Philosopher's Stone?"

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><p>The proper authorities arrived very soon after Al made his initial report, which recommended that the man and his closest followers be arrested. Cornello had claimed all sorts of things since Ed and Al detained him: plans of sedition and rebellion, threats of retribution from his church. The admissions were more than enough for the State to be justified in the arrest and investigation of Cornello and his men. Another good mark on Al's service record.<p>

And that was it, they were going home. Excitement swelled in Al's chest and Ed was in equally good spirits. They had started investigating the power of the stone with small experiments, recording each result with eager anticipation. Both boys lived with a new light in their eyes, gabbing animatedly of their findings. How strange to think that the object of their search was finally in the palms of their hands!

They sunk further and further into discussion, ignoring the world about them until a hand tugged at the edge of Al's sleeve. The joy in their voices faded, confronted as they were by Rose's struggle.

She hadn't meant to come here. She'd been wandering listlessly since the world ended, somehow not convinced that the hustle and bustle around her wasn't hell. When her feet had climbed the steps to the platform, she found herself wondering if the cool kiss of the tracks would be worth it.

The gay chatter, that unmistakeably young voice, arrested her attention and every bit of her suppressed ire.

This Rose was weak, but she still had thorns. "_You," _the word climbed raggedly from her throat, and was ignored. After everything she'd been through, that would not stand. She grabbed his sleeve. He would _listen_.

But now she had his attention and those big, gold eyes held sorrow and an apology that melted through her soul. Every piece of bitterness broke, the fragile shell around her heart shattered. He was shorter, but he caught her when she crumbled.

When the steam whistle screamed and the station master cried for all to come aboard, the boy pulled away with an apology and a tender smile. The one person in this swirl of madness who seemed to know what to do was leaving, and all she could do was let it happen. The train lurched with a _chug_ and Alphonse jumped to the step, hanging from the handle.

He was leaving, and with him went her opportunity for redemption, "What am I supposed to do?!" she followed, "I have nothing! Tell me, what am I supposed to do?!"

For the rest of her life she would remember how the platform had ended and she stood, latching onto his words.

"You've got two strong legs, Rose," he called over the din, "You stand up and keep moving!"

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><p><strong>Part 3 of 3 complete!<strong> I know what you're wondering. Did I really give them Cornello's Philosopher's Stone?! Yes. I. Did. When will you find out what happens with it? Who knows? On another note, I did change the rating to 13+ for Rose's despondent thoughts near the end. Thank-you!


	7. Chapter 7

How-

-no, this wasn't...

How? How did it go so horribly wrong?

Screams echoed through the night; but on a lonely hilltop the house was too isolated, too remote, for the sound to carry.

"Brother! EDWARD!"

All they'd wanted was to have her back, to hug her again, to see her smile. The light had been so brilliant and they'd been so sure they'd succeeded. Now Alphonse sat with too much knowledge and one less arm.

In the corner of his eye the mass at the center of the circle shifted, a feeble spark of hope in his heart, "Mom," his voice cracked in tears, "Mom help-!"

Even in the darkness of their greatest failure it was clear the grotesque figure was not his mother. Its pained moanings resembled nothing of her sweet voice, laced with love even in her last days. Its hand clawed toward him, straining, ribs wavering where logic dictated they ought never be. With a final lurch, the body failed. Wetness rained and splattered, shattering the tightly wound cord of Al's heart.

Mother would never again wipe his tears and clean his scrapes. Father might not ever be coming back. Ed...in the pit of Al's stomach something started to bubble and roil. His chest felt the heat of it and set his teeth in a grimace. From the very depths of his soul emerged a fire never before kindled.

That bastard Truth. A puny god which played and punished men according to its own set of rules. It took Alphonse's arm and filled his head past the point of madness, bringing him tantalizingly close to the answer he and his brother had been seeking before ripping it cruelly past his clutches. In its _magnanimity_ it had let him live. But Alphonse had just lost everything and the Truth had just unraveled his brother before his eyes. Rage boiled.

"Give him back!" he snarled into the darkness. Down came the armor—the ghost of a guardian that Alphonse was just realizing they would never have. Face twisted in a grimace of pain, the boy traced a bloody array.

"I don't give a damn what the toll is, you give him back!" His hand slammed down, activating both the array and seal, both of which should have been too advanced for him. The light of the transmutation flickered off the tangle of limbs and organs not feet away and the fire in Al's eyes burned brighter.

"You can't have them both!"

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><p>"Hey, Ed?" Winry asked, voice small. He seemed lost, so far away. When he did look up, it was only to repeat the same question he'd been asking for hours.<p>

"How is he?"

The smallest part of Winry wanted to smile. Leave it to Ed to lose his whole body and then do nothing but worry about his brother. He was stuck on repeat, the only communication they managed to pull out of him being requests after Al's health.

"He's fine," she said in what she hoped was a sure tone. Bedside manner had never been so important to the young girl before, "Gran says he's stable, resting." _Like you should be doing_ she wanted to say. But she wasn't even sure if he could.

"I was just going to ask about you," she picked up, "I don't think you've been this quiet your entire life!" She'd tried for lighthearted. It fell flat.

Ed replied gruffly that he was fine, unintentionally proving her point as he fell silent yet again. They remained taciturn for a time, Winry trying vainly to think of something to say that would bring Ed out of his stupor. If only she knew what was going on in that head of his, she could help. She'd always been there for them. As strange as this all was, she was doing her best to be there for them still.

Her eyes shifted to Ed's hands (were they even hands?) to notice them trembling, tightly clenched (of course they were). Both of her friends were in pain right and drugs and surgery couldn't fix _this_. One small hand over his was all it took for words to tumble out like tears.

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><p>When Lieutenant Colonel Mustang barged into Granny Pinako's, Ed was almost tempted to be relieved. The last few days went on and on like forever. He'd run faster than ever in his life when he awoke from the rebound and Al was bleeding out in front of him, arm and leg completely gone. But with no brain and no <em>chemicals<em> and nothing but the untampered stream of his consciousness the mad race to the Rockbells didn't rush by. It didn't take forever. Ed perceived the distance and the time with almost mathematic clarity. Every moment since had passed with agonizing normalcy. But nothing was normal anymore. He'd been conscious and aware for every second since waking up as a soul-bound monster, going over and over every mistake he thought was his fault since their failed transmutation. Al had barely even moved since Granny and Winry had been able to coax him awake. Ed wondered if maybe the accident had stolen more than just his brother's limbs.

Then the Lieutenant Colonel burst in and there was something else in the house than just that suffocating pall. No one did anything but grieve until the military man brandished his anger like it could change the world.

"We went to your house! What the hell is that mess? What the _hell _did you make?!"

And in a way it did.

"Stop it!" Ed demanded, automatically putting a restraining hand on the man's shoulder, "Don't talk to my brother that way!" Maybe it was the strange ringing that Ed hadn't gotten used to; maybe the Lieutenant Colonel didn't expect him to be so strong; maybe he didn't expect Ed to be a person at all: whatever the reason, the silence that followed swallowed his confidence and he struggled to continue, "I-it's not his fault, it's mine, it's all mine! Don't talk to him like that...please..."

"Lieutenant Colonel Mustang," Granny spoke up from the quick introductions the man's subordinate made at the front door, voice like steel. "Stop manhandling my patient. If you want to talk to these boys you'll do so like a civilized human being: at a table."

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><p><strong>Here you are: <strong>the events immediately following the transmutation. Mustang's pitch to the boys mostly the same with a little more protectiveness from Ed, the results, obviously, leading to Al's State Alchemist certification. What I really wanted to highlight was the difference in the boys' personalities in their response to their situation so I hope that came across. A few of you have requested to see more interaction between the boys and Mustang's crew and, come next chapter, I hope I shan't dissatisfy. Drop a review, as I love to hear from you and clearly take requests.


	8. Chapter 8

"At it again, are they?" Hawkeye was ready to tuck in to an afternoon of backlogs and paperwork when she heard the telltale signs of an argument brewing in the Colonel's office. This one didn't sound like it'd make the top ten list, but from the corner of her eye she spotted Havoc and Breda agreeing to a bet.

"Yeah," shrugged the youngest State Alchemist ever, "Brother's not pleased. I came to hand in my report," he said, offering the Lieutenant his folder, "but...you know how it is."

Riza answered his wry smile with her own, "I assume he's upset about your next assignment."

In the background, Mustang hung off of Ed's spiked shoulders like a cape, or perhaps a desperate bull rider.

"No so much," he ducked Ed's flying head, which the former sniper caught and tossed back into the fray, "What really bugs him is that Mustang won't let him into the research library while I'm gone."

"I see, I'm sure he'll-"

"THERE'S NO WAY IN HELL YOU'D PASS FOR THAT PINT-SIZED FREAK OF NATURE!"

Riza kept her face as straight as her paperwork. Ed and Roy's clash of wills had become legendary within those halls, and she knew that Mustang secretly enjoyed the matches. Most of the time it would be about a disagreement over one of Al's assignments (which normally just meant that Al went where he was assigned and Ed went wherever the two thought he'd learn something new) but more often than not Roy deliberately started it just to be entertained.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A MICROSCOPIC SPECK OF DUST ON THE BOTTOM OF YOUR SHOE?**! NO BODY CALLS AL SHORT BUT ME!"**

With a groan, Jean fished some bills from his pocket and Al took his cue to retrieve his brother.

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><p><strong>A shortie<strong>, but hopefully a goodie. Feel free to leave a review!


	9. Chapter 9

There were a lot of things that Ed missed about having a body: the exhilaration of working your body to its max, sleeping, the feel of his mother's fingers ruffling his hair, and (though he'd never admit it) he missed what he imagined Winry's hand might feel like in his.

(She and Granny did so much for him in those early days. He would ask after Al's health constantly, but couldn't stand to be in the same room for longer than the space of a few minutes, sure his brother would hate him when he woke.

Winry was there to coax out the words that echoed and grew in his head, "It's my fault! I'm his big brother, I'm supposed to protect him!"

Granny was around to knock the sense back into him, "Use that brain of yours. Aren't you supposed to be some sort of genius? There's a reason it's you, instead of Al, in that armor. You were doing your job. Now shut your mouth before you wake him up.")

There were a lot of things that Ed found useful about his new body. He had no "max," he could fight as long as he needed to. When Al had read himself to sleep, sloughing through research until he couldn't retain another word, Ed would tuck him in and keep reading, drawing conclusions and making connections that they would discuss come the light of day. Thanks to the work the brothers had done to engrave the armor with transmutation circles, Ed gained an increasingly intimate knowledge metals and their behavior. It had saved Al on more than one occasion, when a quick and dirty alteration to his automail was enough to keep him going.

When they were able to make it back to Winry for maintenance (or a complete overhaul), she would undoubtedly start berating them both.

In those moments, faced with an irate, wrench-wielding, half-dressed female, Ed was thankful his body couldn't blush.


End file.
